Losing It: A Breakdown
by Cherie-24-Addict
Summary: An angsty oneshot set three months after Day 7. Renee Walker comes out of her isolation, only to plunge into the depths of despair again once she receives several messages from an old friend. Rated T for slight language and self-violence.


24: Losing It

Characters: Renee W., Jack B.

Genre: Angst/Romance

A/N:_From watching Season 8 of _24_, we know that Jack attempted to keep in touch with Renee, but she didn't return his calls. In the same episode (8.04), within the same minute, we also learn that Renee attempted to kill herself by slitting her wrists. What if these two actions were intertwined and closely related? This character study of Renee Walker attempts to explore what could have happened on the day that she… well… lost it._

_**Between Day 7 and Day 8- 6:01 AM**_

I'm sitting at the kitchen table in my Washington, D.C., apartment when it finally hits me. After three months of nightmares, of anguish, I'm done. After three months of wishing to hear his gravelly voice, of wanting to intertwine his hand with one of mine while running my fingers deftly through his sandy hair with my other, I have finally accepted the fact that Jack Bauer is really, truly dead.

These past months have been completely counterproductive. After a lonely day, I'd slink into my bed for another lonely night. I've been out of a job since I laid down my badge at the FBI, and since I've had nothing to do for weeks, I'd think of Jack. I'd think of our first meeting, how we shared an incredible chemistry, how he saved my life countless times during that incredibly horrible day… and how I wasn't able to save him even once.

During this process of thinking, I'd convince myself that Jack would walk through the front door into my bedroom. He'd be weak, but he would be in the process of recovering. He'd place a hand on my shoulder, and I'd lean up and kiss him. Hard, full of emotion. I'd finally be able to tell him how I felt about him. In the back of my mind, during this dream, a part of me knew he'd return the kiss, though he has a harder time saying what he's feeling than I do. I cringe, remembering his reaction when I slapped him across the face in the hospital. Still, any memory of Jack is a good memory to me. (Well, any memory of Jack before midnight on the day we met.)

Saddled by this dream, this fragile hope of being reunited with Jack Bauer, I lost sleep – and a good amount of sanity – wondering when he'd come get me.

He's dead, though. He's not coming back. Now that I've finally registered it, maybe it'll be that much easier to move on with my life, to pick up the pieces.

The answering machine beeps. "You have… three new messages," the monotone voice says. I'm less than enthusiastic, but I figure it couldn't hurt to join the world again.

"First message. Monday, May 23, 3:45 PM."

That was from exactly six weeks ago, I realize. Today is the 4th of July. How ironic.

"Hey, Renee. It's me… Jack."

What the_ hell?_

"I know that this must be a bit of a shock for you," he continues, reading my mind, "but it turns out that the stem cell treatment worked. I'm recovering in Manhattan with my daughter and her family here. Her daughter, Teri, is just as beautiful as in the picture Kim showed me. I'm starting to feel like me again, but I'm starting to feel isolated. If you could call me back at this number, I would appreciate it."

_Oh, God,_ I think to myself as the first message ends. I knew I missed the sound of his voice, but I didn't realize just how good it would be to hear his voice again. I can't believe that a guy I knew for one day has this much power over me.

"Second message. Wednesday, June 16, 10:36 PM."

"Renee, it's me again," Jack's voice says solemnly. "I heard that you laid down your badge after what happened the day we met. Why did you give it up?" he questions. "You loved your job and everything about it. I called the Bureau myself, and they said something about a nervous breakdown… Please call me. I need to find out what's going on with you from _you_, not the Bureau."

As the second message ends, I realize that my normally steady hands are shaking like crazy. He's brought up my breakdown. He claims he cares. If he did, though, why did he wait so long? Why didn't he stay here in D.C.?

"Third message. Monday, July 4, 5:52 AM."

_Damn!_ I missed today's message by just ten minutes! I'm an early riser now. Maybe it's because I can't sleep. Or maybe it's because I'm starting to become more and more like him every day.

"It's me, Renee," he says. After a small pause, he continues. "Happy Independence Day. I just wanted you to know that I don't blame you for anything that happened. You saved my life, Renee, and I appreciate it.

"All right," he breathes. "Well, you have made it clear that you would rather not contact me, and I'd like to honor your wishes. I want you to know, though, that if you change your mind and decide you'd like to talk, you know the number."

I feel my hot tears rushing down my cheeks, my jaw, and my neck as he whispers into the phone, "If I don't hear from you, I wish you all the best. Even without your badge, you've got a good head on your shoulders and a long life ahead of you. You can move on with your life and forget about me. Goodbye, Renee."

I can't stop crying as the machine blares in its mechanical voice, "End of final message." I realize that for the past six weeks, Jack has been the only one that has attempted to contact me. The only one to try to maintain a relationship. The only one who cares that I'm slipping.

The pain is too much now. I can't contact him, after everything that's passed between us. I love him, damn it, but… I've screwed everything up too much to try to salvage the bond we had that day. There's only one thing to do.

I walk across the kitchen and grab my favorite blade. I've cut myself before, and it never really did it for me, but I figure this is the best way to go out. It'd be a little too ironic to shoot myself with my Sig, which was a faithful companion of mine during my career at the FBI.

As I slide the smooth blade roughly across the inside of my left wrist and start to bleed, I feel a huge flow of pain. I slice open my other wrist and wait for the black to take me.

"This is how it ends," I whisper. "Goodbye, Jack."

As the darkness consumes me and I fall to the floor, I'm not sad. I only feel relief that I will no longer have to deal with the pain and suffering of the past months. I will no longer have to deal with the fact that Jack is just beyond my reach.

I am free.


End file.
